


beaches, music, family, and love

by alesford



Series: our family of choice [15]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Families of Choice, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alesford/pseuds/alesford
Summary: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We've been cleared to land at Jose Martí International Airport where the local time is 2:40pm. It's currently a balmy twenty-seven degrees celsius with sunny skies and no rain in the forecast. We know you have lots of options when it comes to flying these days, so we thank you for choosing to fly with Air Canada and we hope to see you again soon.”ORA Wayhaught family honeymoon.





	beaches, music, family, and love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sensitive_pigeon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitive_pigeon/gifts).



> Pigeon, ask and you shall receive. We're revisiting the theme of beaches again today. This is for you, bird.
> 
> With the start of season three, this series is no longer just a post-canon AU. I've now labeled it as a canon divergence AU, too. So, take from it what you will. (I don't _think_ I have any season 3 premiere spoilers in this one...)
> 
> Any and all mistakes are my own.

**beaches, music, family, and love**

_like a first slow dance and a first long kiss_  
_there ain't nothing baby better then this_  
_it's like a beach blanket and a bottle of wine_  
_it feels something like summertime_  
_summertime_  
_\- 'Summertime' by Bon Jovi_

 

_**summer.  
** **2029.** _

 

June 2, 2029.

She got _married_ . She stood before a justice of the peace with her friends and family and her _daughter_ and became Waverly Haught. They’ve been together for almost thirteen years and now they’re _married_. They’re married and just as in love as they were over a decade ago. Because she loves Nicole Haught with every fiber of her being and Nicole loves her just the same.

Family is everything.

 

 _Everything_.

 

They decide to go to Cuba for their honeymoon. _“Somewhere warm,”_ Waverly had said. _“With beaches and music and dancing?”_

It isn’t exactly a traditional honeymoon. It’s more a family vacation because they fly out of Calgary and then Toronto with Belle, and it’s them against the world, setting off onto a new adventure together.

It’s the first time that Belle has been on an airplane, let alone left Canada for another country. She’s taken by the feeling of her stomach dropping away during take off and landing. Amazed by the sight of the blue, blue skies above the clouds. She asks Waverly to sit next to her instead of Nicole.

“No offense, mom, but mama knows more about different countries and history and stuff,” she says.

Neither woman bothers to clarify that Nicole has actually travelled more extensively than Waverly, even if Waverly can still recite facts about countries backwards and forwards and in circles around any old Joe Schmoe. It isn’t as if Belle is wrong; Waverly does know more about the history and the culture of a place compared to Nicole. She knows so much more about the world despite seeing so very little of it with her own eyes.

  
(Nicole had vowed to change that, and together they had started exploring all of the places that Waverly dreamt of seeing one day. And once Belle came along, the promise of seeing the world together, just the three of them, came to mean that much more.

It’s why they’re here now, on a plane headed toward Havana. Mrs. Waverly Haught with her wife and daughter.)

  
“Well,” Waverly starts with a smile and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “I know a few things about Havana…”

Nicole watches and listens as Belle stares out the window at the wispy clouds before them, nodding her head and taking in every fact and piece of trivia that Waverly shares with her. Later, Belle digs her camera out of her carry-on knapsack and makes the two of them squeeze together for a photo.

“Hold still,” she instructs. Her tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth as she manipulates the dials on the camera, lifting the viewfinder to her eye only to lower it again and change another setting. “The light is so weird on an airplane.” It comes out as an annoyed grumble and it takes one more try before she’s satisfied with the reading on her light meter. “Okay,” she says. “Smile and say, ‘Haught-sauce!’”

The pun is enough to make both of them laugh and it’s genuine and real and brimming with love. They hear click of the shutter and the crank of the film advance lever and then another click.

“Aunt Wynonna always says that you make _The Notebook_ look bleak, and I think I’m finally beginning to understand why,” Belle says with a smirk.

“Your Aunt Wynonna says a lot of things,” Waverly tells her. “A lot of it’s wrong, but that? I’m okay with that being true.”

Belle wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Gross.”

Her moms laugh again and Nicole holds a hand out towards her. “Can I take one of you two?”

She doesn’t hesitate to nod, and she switches the dial on top of the camera to _P_ before offering it to her mom. “It’s on automatic exposure. You just have to change the focus,” she instructs, tugging her mama closer so they fit in the frame.

Nicole ends up leaning backwards and part way into the aisle to get them centered like she wants. Thankfully, the flight attendants are finished pushing the trolley up and down the plane and only one grumpy passenger snarks at her for being in his way. She manages, though, pulling focus and snapping a photo that she hopes turns out well enough for her to add to the growing collection of family pictures in her office at the station.

“Awesome. Thanks, monkey.” She grins, returning the camera to her daughter and finding her wife’s hand as they settle back into their seats. It isn’t long after that the speaker overhead chimes as it does before an announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We've been cleared to land at Jose Martí International Airport where the local time is 2:40pm. It's currently a balmy twenty-seven degrees celsius with sunny skies and no rain in the forecast. We know you have lots of options when it comes to flying these days, so we thank you for choosing to fly with Air Canada and we hope to see you again soon.”

Belle glues her face to the window and watches as the ground comes up to meet them. It’s a rougher landing than the one that took them into Toronto, but she’s entirely unphased. She bounces in her seat, waiting for the seatbelt sign to turn off so she can flaunt the fact that she can stand upright beneath the storage bins.

“Not for much longer,” Nicole tells her. “You’re growing like a weed, kid.”

“I think she’s probably going to be as tall as you, Nic,” Waverly says. “Is it wrong of me to hope that Alice will get mama’s height instead of ‘Nonna’s so I won’t be the only person in our family who’s not freakishly tall?”

“Uncle Jeremy is shorter than mom and Wynonna,” Belle points out.

Waverly chuckles and pinches her daughter in the side, eliciting a giggle and a squirming ten-year-old. “Still taller than me, _ma belle_ ,” she says.

The plane comes to a stop and the light switches off. The _clack_ of seatbelts opening fills the cabin, and Belle pushes to her feet almost immediately. “We’re here!”

And they are. It takes a cramped bus ride to the main terminal and then a surprisingly easy walk through immigration before they walk through more metal detectors and then wait for half an hour for their luggage at the carousel.

“Es Cuba,” Waverly says with a shrug, and both Nicole and Belle look at her curiously. “‘It’s Cuba’. It’s a saying here for when things are slow or don’t go as expected.”

“Es Cuba,” Belle repeats back to her, and Waverly wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close despite the warm weather and lack of air circulation in the airport.

When they finally have their suitcases, it takes a bit of haggling and quick Spanish to pay for a taxi into the city proper. Nicole has never been more proud with her wife’s language skills than she is when Waverly surprises the driver with her fluency and refuses to allow him to charge twice as much as she knows is custom to pay.

Belle takes pictures of everything using Nicole’s mobile. The trees. The first old car that they see on the road. The portrait of Che Guevara on the side of a building.

“Everything’s so _different_ ,” she says with childlike wonder. And Waverly can’t help but agree because she’s also snapping pictures left and right with her own phone, including taking a short video of Nicole looking out the window of the taxi.”This is so cool!”

“It really is, Belle.”

She catches Nicole’s eyes in the rear view mirror and she flashes her wife — her _wife_ — a smile.

 

-

 

The first thing that they do after settling into their casa particular in Vedado is walk down Avenida 23, taking in even more sights and sounds. There are food vendors on the street and people sitting and chatting away under the afternoon sun. They pass by a place selling hotdogs through a window that has an impressively large crowd in front of it.

“Can we get a hotdog there?” Belle asks and Nicole isn’t quite sure how to explain summer heat and sanitation and food borne illness.

“I think they only take pesos,” Waverly says as they continue walking down the street.

“What do we have, then?” And she fishes out the colorful bill her mom had handed her after they exchanged their money. She looks at it curiously, studying the Plaza de Revolución printed on it. “It says ‘peso’ doesn’t it.”

“They use a dual currency here. One that mostly tourists use and another that primarily Cubans use. What we have is CUC and the Cuban peso is CUP.”

“Where do we get CUP?”

“There are places called CADECAs where we can exchange CUC for pesos, but I don’t know how much use we’ll have for them. Maybe if we want to take a máquina at some point.”

In awe of Waverly’s preparedness, Nicole leans in close, bumping her ever so slightly with her shoulder. “Babe, how much research did you do before we left?”

Waverly looks sheepish and holds up the pocket notebook that she’s been scribbling in for the better half of the month leading up to the wedding. “A lot?” she says, and though it comes out sounding more like a question than an answer, Nicole loves her for it.

“My two nerds.” She ruffles Belle’s short blonde locks and smiles broadly at Waverly. “I love you, Waverly and Belle Haught. More than I can describe.”

“We love you, too, mom.”

They trek all the way down to the Malecón where they watch the waves break against the seawall. Locals cast fishing lines into the sea and others stand and admire the view. Hotel Nacional sits up on an overlook, visible from where they stand, and wow, the entire scene is absolutely breathtaking.

And then Belle and Nicole are fencing with imaginary swords, talking like pirates come ashore during the days of legend and lore. It’s ridiculous, and Waverly feels entirely too spoiled, blessed with luck to have these two goofballs in her life.

 

-

 

They spend the week exploring the city, mostly by foot but sometimes by the old American cars still held together with wire hangers and duct tape and salvaged parts. They’re illustrative of Cuban tenacity and determination, and Belle is always thrilled when they manage to flag one down by waving three fingers in the air along 23 or Linea until one pulls over to let them inside.

It’s cramped and hot and the music is loud and it’s worlds away from Purgatory.

They walk the old cobblestone streets of La Habana Vieja and take in the multi-colored buildings and homes in Centro Habana. Waverly shares more historical facts and phrases in Spanish until Nicole and Belle are confidently ordering drinks and food in the language, saying _gracias_ and _por favor_ with the so distinctly Cuban accent.

They share meals with the host of their casa particular, eating mofongo and caldosa and mashed malanga. There’s rice and beans and yuca, and it’s so drastically different than anything that they normally cook at home. Belle, of course, takes a quick liking to the fresh tostones made from the plantains growing outside the kitchen window.

They look at art and take a tour of the old National Hotel, which feels like walking onto a 1930’s movie set. They find a jazz club in Miramar that allows Belle entrance with them, and they spend an evening walking along the Malecón late into the night, listening to music pumped through a boombox and dancing the night away.

Waverly doesn’t want the trip to end. Because she isn’t sure she’s ever experienced so many new things in such a short amount of time, and no, demon killing and possessions and abductions don’t count. Because they’re married and they’re on their honeymoon and it’s warm and beautiful and she doesn’t need her bonus blankets to stay warm at night. The caribbean breeze and her wife — her _wife_ — in bed beside her keep her plenty comfortable, cocooned in layers of love. Because it’s been an amazing five days of adventure with her wife and her daughter and when she fully wakes up this morning, when she pulls herself from bed to drink guayaba juice and eat eggs and toast and sip coffee from a Cubita demitasse, she knows it will be their last full day on this tropical island that’s gifted them all with so many beautiful memories.

“Mmm, you’re thinking too hard,” Nicole mumbles, pressing her lips to the soft skin of her wife’s collarbone. “Come back to me, Waves.”

And Waverly can’t help but smile. She turns to snuggle into Nicole’s arms, whispering, “Always.” She says it with as much conviction as she said, _I do._

“What time did we tell Belle we’d leave for the beach?”

“Nine.” Waverly glances at the digital clock on the bedside table. “Which means we still have an hour if we can get ready in half that time.”

Nicole shifts in bed so she’s propped up on her elbow, tracing the curve of Waverly’s jaw with a featherlight touch. “A whole hour, huh?” she asks with a smug grin, far more awake now than she was a few minutes earlier. “I wonder what we can do during that time…”

Waverly tugs at Nicole’s tank top, smiling into the throaty chuckle that she draws from her with a kiss. “I think I can come up with a few things.” Hands settle onto waists, fingers brushing over bare skin, and—

“Moms! Are you guys up yet?”

They still immediately, and Nicole laughs, dropping her forehead to Waverly’s shoulder. “I swear she’s somehow inherited your sister’s timing through osmosis.”

“Ugh. That’s an awful thought.” She gently pushes at Nicole’s hip until the other woman flops dramatically back onto her back on the mattress. “We’re up, sweetie,” Waverly calls out. “We’ll be out for breakfast in just a minute.”

“Don’t be gross, okay?” they hear through the door.

“Yeah, I’m definitely blaming Wynonna for that.”

 

-

 

It’s another surprisingly sunny day despite entering into the early hurricane season. They’ve been lucky enough to only have rain one day during their trip, and they spent it inside of El Museo de Bellas Artes de La Habana. So they aren’t surprised that Santa María del Mar is already teeming with tourists and Habaneros alike when they arrive after the twenty-minute cab ride from Vedado. There’s music and dancing and drinking and more camaraderie than Shorty’s on a Saturday night. It feels _lively_ and _vibrant_ in an entirely different way than elegant and reserved Alberta.

“Look at the water!” Belle shouts in her excitement as soon as they’re out of the taxi and Nicole has paid the driver. She’s already racing down the shoreline towards the far end that seems a bit less populated than the area closest to the roadway. “C’mon, slowpokes, let’s go!” She backtracks through the sand, kicking it up with her flip flops as she hurried to grab hold of her mama’s hand to encourage them to move at a brisker pace.

“Ocean’s not going anywhere, monkey,” Nicole says, following behind them at her still leisurely pace.

“Moooom,” Belle drags out, loud enough for her mom to hear even from several feet in front of her. “It’s our last day. We have to make the most of it. And Betty said she’d teach me how to make tostones tonight and let me have an entire plate of my own with dinner tonight, so we have to make sure we’re back early!” There’s glee in her eyes and she drops Waverly’s hand to snap a photo of the scenery with the camera hanging around her neck.

“Okay, okay,” Nicole relents and quickens her step so she’s side-by-side with them once more.

“Baby girl, I’m really beginning to think you are a monkey with how much you like those plantains.”

Belle whirls in the sand and gives both of her mothers her most serious and yet still childlike look. “They’re _delicious_ , mama. We need to see if Mr. Harrison can order plantains so I can make them for Alice once we’re back home.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him next time I’m in the store. We can probably find them in the big city, too, if we want to try to recreate a Cuban meal for Sunday night dinner sometime. I think I could wrangle your mom into helping me with that.”

Nicole’s eyes widen in horror because she is still, without a doubt, as bad a cook as Doc. She can chop vegetables and handle a can opener, but anything that requires more precision or creativity, she somehow manages to bungle horribly. It’s why Waverly does most of the cooking and Nicole sticks to cleaning. It’s also why there are more takeaway menus on their fridge than in a bachelor’s apartment, especially for the nights when it’s just Nicole and Belle while Waverly’s off on some supernatural case with Wynonna and the boys.

“Yeah, hard pass on cooking for me,” she says. “Doc and I will watch the kids and you and Dolls and Jeremy can make that happen.”

“Is my big baby afraid of cooking?” Waverly ribs.

“I’m afraid of creating something so inedible that Wynonna points Peacemaker at me over dessert.”

“Aunt ‘Nonna is all bark and no bite, mom. You’re the one that told me that in the first place,” Belle says, coming to a stop at a quieter part of the beach. “I think here is good.”

Nicole plants the umbrella that Betty loaned them into the sand, casting shade over the three small towels that they lay out beneath it. With plenty of sunscreen and a liter bottle of water each, they’re ready for the day, even if they aren’t ready for it to end any time soon. They talk and build sandcastles and swim far, far out into the ocean until none of them can see the bottom anymore. They swim until their muscles ache and Belle asks Waverly to tow her back to shore. They fall back onto their towels, glistening with salt spray and grains of sand, and they trade stories and laughs until they’re not as exhausted anymore.

And then Belle is off and running again, zigzagging through the smaller waves and damp sand and taunting her mom with silly jokes and embracing the freedom to be a kid in this place where nobody knows them or their pasts. There isn’t a great evil chasing them or threatening their happiness. They can just be _them_ in the here and now.

Because they’ve come to Havana for their honeymoon slash family vacation and the water is warm and the sun is shining and there’s music and dancing on the beach and life is a splendid thing. This trip is a magical thing.

The máquinas, the jazz clubs, the late night walks along the Malecón — Waverly loves it all. But this? Watching her wife and daughter chase each other in and out of the warm Gulf waters, being here with them, together after everything they’ve survived?

  
It means the world to her.  


Because inasmuch as she would love to travel and see everything that life has to offer outside of Purgatory, her life is here. Her world is here, wherever her family may be. And really, that’s more than she could ever have dreamt that she might have one day.

Because family is everything —

 

_everything_

 

—  and she has hers.

It’s right in front of her.

She smiles and joins the chase, laughing as Nicole and Belle pull her into the water with them.

Together.

Always.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Wynonna Earp Day!
> 
> Remember to tweet live during the show using #WynonnaEarp and limiting the number of hashtags to two! Otherwise it doesn't get counted toward trending. So stick with #SYFY or #Earpers and let's get our shitshow trending tonight!
> 
> That's how you Earp it, boys and girls.


End file.
